


Like Brothers

by Colubrina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29218290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colubrina/pseuds/Colubrina
Summary: Minerva McGonagall steps in on the awful night the Potters are murdered and arranges to have Harry Potter raised by Sirius Black and his somewhat cousins, the Malfoys. Draco and Harry grow up as almost brothers and everything - well, almost everything - is different.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 128
Kudos: 298





	1. Prologue

_Minerva McGonagall looked at the young couple standing in her office. She’d been head down over preparations for the Halloween Feast, always a problematic event that resulted in alcohol poisoning, dragging students out from behind bushes, and usually at least one assault. It was her least favorite school celebration, but Dumbledore insisted on keeping it with sanctimonious noises about Samhain and tradition and fun. How a party that was mostly about candy and purloined fire whiskey had anything to do with harvest festivals and the advent of the Horned God McGonagall had no idea, but every suggestion that she add a bit of historical relevance to the curriculum was pooh-poohed._

_She’d been thinking Halloween was going to be her trial for this week and thanking any of the old gods that were listening that at least the Marauders had graduated so things would be comparatively calm. Looking over the bloodstained children in front of her she knew Halloween and intoxicated teenagers were about to become the least of her worries._

_The girl was covered in soot and dirt and blood and the boy – so pale and angular he was obviously a Malfoy though there weren’t any Malfoys that age right now – was bleeding from a cut on his cheek of which he seemed unaware. He had his hand on the girl’s shoulder, his finger cured into her as though she were afraid she might disappear._

_“Who are you?” Minerva asked. “Where are you from?”_

_The girl closed her eyes. “The future,” she whispered, and she began to tell a tale so fantastic Minerva didn’t want to believe it. That wretched Voldemort pushed into non-corporeal form after an attack on the Potter baby only to rise again using arts so black Minerva thought they had been lost. War. Another war, this time using children rather than adults so young they were merely almost children._

_“You realize that by telling me this you might have changed the future enough that you, as you are now, the product of all your experiences, might cease to exist,” McGonagall said, wondering who had been so foolish as to give a teenager a time turner._

_The girl looked at her. Her gaze had a steady maturity that McGonagall suspected had been put there by horrors beyond imagining. “We had to do it. If we could prevent war, we had to.”_

_“You know I’ll find you,” the boy said, his voice raw and urgent. “No matter what universe we live in, I’ll find you. If I could find you in this one, when blood prejudice and war set us at one another’s throats, I’ll find you in a peaceful one.”_

_“Don’t forget about Sirius Black,” the girl begged her and McGonagall watched, horrified, as the pair began to fade away. She saw the Dark Mark, long healed, burned into the boy’s arm and shuddered._

_Still, she didn’t believe them. Not really. Not until Halloween night when Dumbledore came and got her from the school party, pulling her away from where she’d been scolding two Hufflepuffs that she’d found behind a pillar doing something guaranteed to cause yeast infections with cotton candy. When she saw Lily Potter’s body, however, fallen to the floor of the nursery where her baby still sat in his crib, wailing, she believed._

_When Dumbledore said he was going to take the baby to his aunt, some Muggle named Petunia, McGonagall put her foot down. “You can’t just leave a baby on some woman’s doorstep, Albus,” she said. “I know this is a shock and you might not be thinking straight, but Lily was estranged from her family; surely you remember that. They cast her out because she’s a witch. We’ll check the Potter’s will and see who they wanted young Harry to go to.”_

_“Sirius Black,” Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. “The very friend who betrayed them.”_

_“Sirius?” McGonagall stared at him. “Don’t be absurd. That boy was irresponsible, headstrong, and a menace but he would never_ ever _have betrayed anyone to Voldemort, much less James Potter. They were like brothers.”_

_“People do betray their brothers, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, reaching for the baby._

_She pulled the child out of his reach and said, with a snort, “Then the next option would be the Malfoys. Dorea Potter was a Black and that makes this child some sort of cousin of Narcissa’s. I can owl her in the morning.”_

_“Minerva,” Dumbledore said, his voice laced with authority and warning._

_She, however, was unmoved. “Don’t ‘Minerva’ me, Albus. I’m not letting you leave this child on the doorstep of a bunch of Muggles. Do you plan to see to freeing Sirius Black from this absurd charge you seem to have laid at his feet or do I have to do that too?”_

_She did owl Narcissa Malfoy, though Dumbledore backed down from his plan to leave James and Lily Potter’s child with Muggles._

_“What was he thinking?” Narcissa agreed as the two women sat in Minerva’s office and looked down at the baby in a basket on the floor, sleeping peacefully now. “Accidental magic is bad enough when the parents know what to expect. Muggles who you tell me are horrified of anything unusual? It would be a disaster. This is how Muggle-born children end up abused.”_

_“Sirius will need your help,” Minerva said. “I’m not even sure that man can take care of himself, much less raise a boy.”_

_“Draco is the same age,” Narcissa said softly, still looking at the boy. “Walburga and Druella and all that lot are gone now; there’s no need to humor their banishment of Sirius. We can bring Sirius back into the family, raise the two children to be as close as brothers.” She sipped from her tea. “But I’ll need Lucius’ help. Boys… they need a father’s influence.”_

_McGonagall looked at the petite woman and heard the trade she was offering; she added a condition of her own. “I suspect I’ll need his help too.”_

_“That,” Narcissa said, “can be arranged.”_


	2. Chapter 2

"Mine!" Draco grabbed the toy broom away from Harry's hands, eliciting a wail of fury and a vigorous smack. 

"Mine!" Harry retorted and, snatching the broom back, ran away as fast as his little legs could take him. Draco took off after him and tackled him and the two rolled in the grass, shrieking and giggling with equal volume. Harry finally got possession of the broom, sat on it, and tried to fly away. Unfortunately for Harry, not only did Draco run considerably faster than the child’s broom flew, the broom wouldn’t get higher than two feet off the ground. Draco quickly pushed the other boy over, grabbed the broom, and took off, this time with Harry in pursuit.

"Boys," Lucius said in a tone of utter, indulgent pleasure. 

"They will be boys?" Narcissa asked archly as she poured herself another glass of the iced and fruited wine.

"You object?" Sirius asked her.

The three of them were sitting out on the stone patio that stretched along this part of the back side of the Manor and watching the two boys, the one blond and the other with hair so dark it was nearly black, as they chased after one another on the lawn. A pair of nannies sat closer to the boys, their prim uniforms a starched indication of their opinions on rambunctious children. Late afternoons at the Manor had become a summer tradition, just as winter days often found the boys running through the halls of Grimmauld Place while Narcissa shopped in London. Child-proofing floos against bright boys who genuinely believed they each had two houses of their own and didn't understand why they couldn't just pop over from one to the other was an ongoing struggle. Sirius had fought against the intrusion of a nanny until he'd found Harry climbing stairs on the outside of the banister and jumping down to the floor below.

"I swear," he'd muttered to Narcissa, "the boy has a death wish."

She'd just handed him the card to the nanny agency without saying a word and Miss Abbott had started the next day.

"Don't like her," Harry had said, face screwed up into an adorable but petulant pout. 

"Why?" Sirius had asked.

"Makes me eat carrots," Harry had said, his tone suggesting this was the ultimate indignity.

"Sirius," Narcissa asked now. "Where's Remus?"

"He begged off, as usual," Sirius said. "Seems to think you have a problem with his furry problem."

"Astute of him," Lucius said in a cold drawl.

"Says the man who has the 'I'm an idiot' brand on his arm," Sirius said, leaning back and making at best a pro-forma sneer at his host. He and Lucius had long since come to a cessation of any real hostilities.

"As I recall, your brother had the Mark," Lucius said.

"Reg was also an idiot," Sirius agreed. "He bought into your pureblood dogma as if it would save his life." He took a drink of the very non-fruity fire whiskey in his tumbler. He didn’t care for Narcissa’s sangria. "It didn't, of course."

"Muggle-borns are a problem," Lucius opined. 

"Like Lily?" Sirius nearly growled. 

"She was an exceptional witch," Lucius said, dismissing her as an outlier with a wave of his hand. "Brilliant, and, more to the point, willing to leave her Muggle world behind." He eyed Sirius. "I didn't see you eager to leave Harry with his aunt even though the woman was his closest living relative. Dumbledore sat there and bleated about blood wards and protections against the inevitable rise of the Dark Lord - "

"Voldemort," Sirius said, his tone implacable. "The man wasn't a god. We can call him by his name without being struck down."

"Says the mutt who wasn't treated to the sight of torture whenever anyone slipped up and called said Lord by his name."

"His pretentious, made up name," Sirius said.

"My point," Lucius stressed, "is that you don't like Muggles any more than I do or you wouldn't have fought so hard to raise Harry."

"It was what James and Lily wanted," Sirius said, turning away to watch the boys who were now pegging a small ball at one another's heads, broom forgotten, and were laughing hysterically whenever one of them caught, or failed to catch, the missile. 

"Not many bachelors would have done it," Lucius said. "You were a wild one, Sirius, and now you're a father even though there was a ready-made family waiting to take the boy. You put the motorbike away and took on nappies and bottles and formula. You even made up to that crazy house elf of yours. You really didn’t want that boy living with those Muggles."

"Have you ever met Petunia Dursley?" Sirius asked, still watching the pair on the lawn. When Lucius didn't respond he added, "No one would give that woman a magical child. She hated Lily, was jealous of her, and went out and found the least magical husband she could as if to spite them both. I think that man could almost negate magic by his very existence. He certainly negates wonder and joy."

"I went and observed them one day," Narcissa said. "Sirius is quite right. It's as if they live to reinforce stereotypes about Muggles." She took a sip of her fruited wine; Narcissa was always happy to import Muggle customs that she liked like sangria, shoes, and quite a bit of fashion. “They do have a nice lawn, however. I’m impressed the Muggles can manage it without magic.”

If Lucius didn't spit at the word 'Muggles' it was only because a lifetime of courtesy kept his response to a sneer. "That anyone would have considered letting Dorea Black's grandson be raised by Muggles offends me," Lucius said. "Even if he is a half-blood."

Narcissa coughed delicately into her hand and Lucius looked at her. "We're members of the Order of the Phoenix now, Lucius, even if other than dear Minerva and Sirius none of them know it. Try to remember that we support the rights of Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns if you can."

"You aren't implying my foster-son is somehow less than Draco, are you?" Sirius demanded.

Lucius made a face. "Oh, Harry," he said. "I have to admit that Harry is exceptional. Everyone knows that. The Chosen One and all. And we're all raising him properly. He's known his place in the world since he could walk. He and Draco are - "

"Crying," Narcissa said. "He and Draco are crying."

And indeed they were. Both boys had come running up and were telling some complicated tale about garden gnomes stealing their ball and how it wasn't fair."

"You gave it to them," Draco said, his grey eyes overflowing with tears. "It's all your fault."

"I thought they'd give it back," Harry wailed. Grimmauld Place didn’t have gnomes; it had, instead, a house-elf who, once he’d realized Harry was Dorea’s grandson, had announced that Harry was his person and had begun a campaign of indulgence that made even Sirius look strict.

Sirius picked up a napkin and transfigured it to a replacement ball that he tossed to Harry as Lucius lifted the sniffling Draco onto his lap. "Garden gnomes can be tricky," he said, his tone very serious. "They once took apart my entire playhouse."

"You had a playhouse?" Sirius scoffed.

"Yes, indeed," Lucius said. "And it had a turret where I could watch out for dragons and a green and silver flag." He gave Narcissa a conspiratorial look. "I've always wanted to have that rebuilt. What do you think, dear?"

"I think," she said, "that this would be a great summer to do that. You boys could go draw pictures of what you think it should look like so we can make sure the contractors build it properly."

Harry frowned as he hefted the new ball in his hand. "Drawing?" he asked, doubt evident in his tone. Harry didn’t care for anything that supplanted flying and catch. 

"It needs a moat," Draco said, already latching on to the idea of his very own playhouse. "For the otters."

"Otters?" Sirius asked, cocking an eyebrow at Narcissa.

"He's always been fascinated by otters," she said with a delicate shrug. "Tends to insist they're all his but, whenever we get him a stuffed one, he starts to cry and insists it's not right."

"Kids," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes as both boys went off to draw this playhouse with a moat. "They latch onto the weirdest ideas."

. . . . . . . . . .

“Just look at them,” Narcissa said a bit later. The boys had sprawled out across the stones of the patio and had large sheets of white paper in front of them and pots of colored paint arranged in a neat row.

Miss Abbott had helped with that part. Neatness was very important to her.

“A pair of future Slytherin princes,” Lucius said. “They’ll lead our House to Quidditch domination.”

“And get excellent marks,” Narcissa said.

Sirius coughed. “You really think Harry’s going to be sorted into Slytherin?” he asked. “James’ son? _Lily’s_ son? He’s a Gryffindor through and through. The moment I caught him jumping off the stairs I knew he had a streak of bravery that would put him into red and gold.”

“All boys do that,” Lucius said. “I’ve found Draco jumping off the banister too. That doesn’t mean he’s got more daring than sense; it just means he’s a boy.”

Narcissa smiled, a somewhat enigmatic expression. “I think we’ll all be a bit surprised when the Sorting Hat does its magic,” she said. “But the boys will be princes whether they’re in silver or gold.”

Lucius looked at his wife. “What,” he asked with careful deliberation, “Do you know?”

She glanced over at the boys. “I know someone will be out here tomorrow morning applying cleaning charms to these stones,” she said. Lucius turned and groaned. Harry had tipped over one of the paint pots and was spreading the red paint along the stones with careful attention to detail.

“At least it’s paint,” Lucius said. “Last time – “

“I know,” Narcissa said. 

“How long do we have?” he asked.

Sirius leaned forward, drinks and quibbles about future Houses forgotten. “If the timeline remains relatively intact, until their fifth year,” Narcissa said, her eyes on the boys. 

“About ten more years, then,” Sirius said, his voice hard. “And Dumbledore is still up there playing chess with people’s lives.”

Sirius had never forgiven Dumbledore for planning to let him go to Azkaban without a trial. 

“Blood wards,” he spit out now. “Such utter bullshite. And Snape teaching at Hogwarts.”

“Well, Snape did turn traitor, or so Dumbledore claims,” Narcissa said. “Rejecting Voldemort and working for the Light and all.” She took another sip of her drink as she watched Harry continue to push the red paint around the stones.

“Do you believe that?” Sirius asked with a sneer. “Snivellus would never do anything other than try to preserve his own skin.” He glanced at Lucius and added, “A model Slytherin.”

“Self-preservation is hardly a sin, Sirius,” Lucius said. “I realize your mother was a tad extreme – “

“I assume we are now using ‘a tad extreme’ as a Britishism for ‘batshite crazy’?” Sirius asked.

“ – but I do wish you’d not judge all of us by Severus or Walburga.”

Sirius sagged back in his seat and regarded his cousin. “Oh, you’re all right, Cissa,” he admitted. “And your husband is surprisingly palatable.” He smirked. “And Andromeda.”

Narcissa’s smile became tight. “She continues to choose not to see us,” she said. 

“Really?” Sirius needled. “I can’t imagine why she’d be resentful.”

“I was very young,” Narcissa said, “and I had no reason to defy my parents.”

“And now you do,” Sirius said.

Narcissa’s eyes never moved from the boys. Harry had added some blue to his red paint and was swirling it in to make a muddy purple but Draco was bent over his paper and drawing a castle with immense care, his tongue stuck out as he concentrated. “Now I do,” she said, “and not just my parents. I’ll defy the whole world for that boy if I have to.”

Lucius reached over and laced his fingers through hers. “As will I,” he said. “No one is going to brand our son. No one is going to threaten him. Not even the Dark L… not even Voldemort.”

. . . . . . . . . .

Helen Granger looked at the stuffed dragon floating in the air in front of her daughter. "Honey," she said, "What are you doing?"

"Dragons love to fly," the girl said as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. "So he's flying."

Helen blinked a few times. She hadn't ever raised a child before but she was fairly sure that most of them were unable to suspend their toys in midair.

"I think," she said slowly, "that maybe you shouldn't let anyone but me see you make your dragon fly."

"Because no one else can do it," Hermione said.

"That's right," Helen said. She paused and then, wanting to change the subject, asked "What's your dragon's name?"

"Dragon," the girl said.

"Just 'Dragon'?" Helen asked, surprised. Hermione usually gave her stuffed toys elaborate names. The horse was, 'Brown Spotted Sleek Clover' and the cat was 'Fluffy Kitty Princess Girl'. "Why just 'Dragon'?"

"Because that's his name," Hermione said. Dragon settled to the ground and the girl stood up, toy apparently forgotten. "I'm going to go draw now. Can I have juice?"

"No," Helen said automatically. "Juice rots your teeth


	3. Chapter 3

Narcissa knocked on the door of Grimmauld Place and, when no one answered, opened it with a roll of her eyes. “Sirius,” she called once she’d stepped inside.

“He’s still in the shower,” came a voice from the kitchen. She gave a disgruntled look to the curtained portrait of Walburga – she really couldn’t believe no one had found a way to undo that permanent sticking charm yet – and made her way to the surprisingly inviting space. When Walburga had held sway over the house, no one would have been so plebian as to lounge at the large table in the kitchen. The kitchen was for the help. Now Harry was there devouring what appeared, from what remained, to have once been a large plate of eggs. 

“Harry,” she said, running a hand through his hair. No matter what she did she couldn’t get this child’s hair to behave. She smiled at how different the boys could be in that regard. Draco at ten had taken to hair gel with an enthusiasm that bordered on obsessive and she hadn’t the heart to tell him he was overdoing it. Harry, meanwhile, might have benefited from a slight increase in his concern over his appearance.

“Hi, Mum,” he said around the last mouthful of eggs.

She sighed. “Harry, what have I told you about talking with your mouth full?”

He swallowed. “Sorry, Mum.” He slid out of his seat and, after taking the plate to the sink and dropping it in, he yelled up, “Dad! Mum’s here!”

“Shite!” drifted down from upstairs. “I thought she wasn’t going to be here until ten. Tell her I’m naked, would you?”

Harry looked at Narcissa Malfoy who was successfully controlling her urge to laugh thanks to the training she’d received at the hands of her own mother. “Sirius is naked,” Harry said without batting an eye. “He’ll be down in a sec once he puts some clothes on.”

“Where’s Remus?” Narcissa asked, settling herself at the table. Kreacher had a cup of tea in front of her before she’d even tucked her handbag under her seat. “Thank you,” she said to the elf before she took a sip. The tea was, of course, perfect. Walburga hadn’t tolerated any kind of failure from her magical staff, as the long-discarded elf heads the woman had mounted on her wall had warned.

Walburga had had an appalling sense of what one should do in so many ways. It had taken Narcissa a good two years to get this place looking like normal people lived here instead of Dark Arts obsessed psychotics. As she’d tossed ugly snake decoration after ugly snake decoration away she’d taken to muttering a variety of imprecations that had made Sirius laugh until he cried.

“Did your mother know you had such a vocabulary?” he’d asked.

Narcissa had just glared at him as she held up a glass globe with a dead pixie inside it. “Who thinks this is something to put out on the mantle?” she’d demanded. “Who?”

The obvious answer, of course, was Walburga. It was, Narcissa mused to herself as she sat sipping her tea and waiting for Sirius to get dressed, not well done to think ill of the dead, but sometimes it was hard to think anything charitable about that woman. She shook her head slightly as if to clear her opinions about her aunt away and turned back to Harry. “Remus,” she prompted him.

“It was a full moon last night,” Harry said. “He’s probably still asleep.”

Narcissa nodded. To her mind, the best thing about having Remus living here was that his presence kept Sirius in check. Without the werewolf to consider, Sirius would probably have had a different girl in here every week and that would not have been good for Harry. She would have had to say something about that. As it was, she just made sure Remus had a steady supply of wolfsbane and chocolate and considered the problem of Sirius’ promiscuity managed.

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, slouching back to his seat. 

Narcissa took a sip of her tea before answering. “Late,” she said at last. “It seems he threw a pillow at Dobby and refused to get up and I told him to floo over once he’d managed to develop some self-control.”

“So he’s not coming with us then, I take it?” Sirius asked from the doorway, dressed if still barefoot, and Narcissa laughed.

“Good morning, Sirius,” she said.

“Narcissa,” he grinned at her. “I see Kreacher has already gotten you tea so I’m spared having to play the host.”

“Do not take Sirius as your model for manners,” Narcissa advised Harry.

“Harry!”

“The floo is yelling,” Sirius observed just as a missile came out of the fireplace. Harry caught it and waited until Draco stepped through and then pegged it back at the other boy as hard as he could.

“Git!” Draco complained as the ball slammed into his arm.

“You started it,” Harry said. “I saved you some bacon.”

“Where?” Draco asked.

“Counter.”

Draco bounded over the counter and began shoving strips of cold bacon into his mouth from the platter as Kreacher wrung his hands in the corner and wailed. “Young Master Black, I can make more. That is cold. Stop! I can make more!”

“It’s fine, Kreacher,” Draco said, barely stopping to chew. “None of the elves at the Manor cook like you do.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Sirius said as he regarded the two boys, “but I miss the nannies. That tutor you hired doesn’t seem to have the quite the same level of control.”

“You could try controlling Harry yourself,” Narcissa pointed out. “You are the parent.”

Sirius snorted at that but made a perfunctory effort to plaster Harry’s hair down before he gave up. “Where are your glasses?” he asked.

“Dad,” Harry whined. “I hate them.”

“And you can’t see without them,” Narcissa said in a tone of utter finality. “You can have your eyes magically fixed when you’re an adult and the myopia has stabilized. Until then, it’s glasses for you.”

Harry slunk out of the room muttering things about unfair and he could see just fine. Sirius sighed. “Kreacher,” he said, “would you mind finding Harry his glasses? I’m pretty sure he can’t see well enough to find the blasted things if they aren’t on his nightstand.”

Kreacher made predictable noises about what an honor it was to help young Master Black-Potter-Potter-Black and disappeared with a loud pop. Sirius muttered something and, at Narcissa’s inquisitive cough, said, “I think I liked him better when he just skulked about scowling and talking about how much he missed my mother.”

Narcissa laughed. “You did not,” she said. “You hated him.” She looked over at Draco. “Be sure to wash your hands when you’re done, Draco. We’re going clothes shopping and I don’t want you to get bacon grease all over Madame Malkin’s robes.”

“Yes, Mum,” Draco said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

“In the sink,” she said. “With water. And soap.”

“Yes, Mum,” he muttered again as he moved to the tap and began following her instructions.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Sirius said as he lounged against the counter. “I really am capable of taking the boy out and buying him clothes.”

Narcissa smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, cuz,” she said. “I’ll make sure to have all of Harry’s things put on your account.”

Sirius looked a little blank. “How much can one ten-year-old boy need?” he asked. “It’s not like we have to get them stuff for Hogwarts yet.”

“Sirius,” Narcissa said. “He’s grown out of everything. You can’t have him wandering about in whatever awful, oversized cast-offs he finds in the attic.”

“You know best,” Sirius said. “Just… let me get him the broom, okay?”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “What do you have in mind? I’m sure I can get whatever it is when we’re out.”

“One step better than whatever Lucius gets Draco,” Sirius said, grinning at her.

She made an exasperated noise and, when Draco looked up, pointed to the door. “Out,” she said. “All small boys need to be outside the door and ready to go.”

“You aren’t going to make us walk?” Draco asked in horror. “Through Muggle London? What if I catch something?”

“Then you will take potions and learn to keep your hands in your pockets instead of touching things,” Narcissa said. “A brisk walk is good for the soul.” She called up the stairs, “Harry, if you do not get down here this instant, I will not take you for ice cream when we’re done.”

Harry bounded down the stairs two at a time. “Sorry,” he said unrepentantly. “I was looking at a Quidditch book.”

“She’s making us walk,” Draco informed Harry.

“Why?” Harry asked in dismay. “We could just – “

“Walk,” Narcissa said. She looked back at Sirius. “Still want to come?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s okay. You all have fun now.”

Narcissa pulled a list out of her bag as she walked out and away; she began to read it out loud as both boys literally dragged their feet, scuffing the toes of their Muggle trainers along the sidewalk as they trailed after her grumbling about having to walk and why couldn’t they just take the floo because they were wizards after all and it just wasn’t fair.

She ignored them both.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione piled another book onto the stack her mother was holding. “Hermione,” her mother said. “That’s enough. I told you that you needed to start using the library more.”

“I just like them more when they’re mine,” the girl said, pulling another book off the shelf and looking at it.

“Your book habit is going to drive us to the poorhouse,” Helen Granger said, but the fond tone belied the complaint. It was obvious to anyone watching the pair that she was more than happy to indulge her daughter’s love of reading. “Really, Hermione?” she said as she caught sight of the book in her daughter’s hand. “You already have a copy of _Matilda_.”

“I know,” Hermione said, “but it’s falling apart. Can’t I get another one? Please?”

Helen sighed and Hermione added the book to the pile, stopping for a moment to look out the window. “What is it?” Helen asked.

“It’s nothing,” Hermione said, adding one more book to the pile. “I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Helen nodded and didn’t mention that, as her beloved daughter had trouble making friends, anyone she saw she thought she knew was likely to have been unpleasant to her in primary. She had sat through any number of meetings with the girl’s teachers. “She’s very bright,” they’d all assured her, as if Helen didn’t know that. “She’s just a little young for her age. Immature. Awkward. She’ll grow out of it.”

“She doesn’t have any friends,” Helen wanted to say. She wanted to shake all the little brats who made fun of Hermione for her books and her eagerness to learn and somehow make those children like her daughter. She didn’t know how to suggest, even gently, that Hermione consider toning it down just a little. “You don’t have to answer every question the teacher asks,” she’d said once, but Hermione had screwed up her face in confusion. “Why would they ask they question if they didn’t want me to answer it?” she’d asked.

Helen had given up and hoped that the teachers were right and age would bring some kind of wisdom. Now she looked at the last title her daughter had picked out. “ _Dragonflight_?” she asked. “Are you ever going to grow out of your fascination with dragons?”

Hermione shrugged and made a show of looking at her watch. “I have ballet in 45 minutes, Mum. Can we get these and get over to the studio?”

Helen sighed. “All right, sweetheart,” she said. “Have you practiced your piano yet today?”

“No,” Hermione said. Her tone suggested she was not as fond of piano as she was of reading.

“Then you can do that after ballet and before you start this new dragon book, understand?”

“Yes, Mum.”

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco had been dragging his feet the entire walk and Narcissa had moved from amused to annoyed to about ready to tell him to stop being such a little brat. “Draco,” she said, “Pick up the pace. We do have to get this done; we have dinner tonight at the Nott’s.”

“Do I have to go?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Narcissa said, giving him a look he’d learned not to question.

Draco was about to respond when he suddenly stopped in front of a Muggle bookshop.

“What is it?” Narcissa asked. She was easily several feet ahead of him by the time she realized he’d stopped walking and she had to raise her voice a bit.

He frowned for a moment and then shook his head. “It’s nothing, Mum. I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

“In a Muggle shop?” Harry asked, snickering. “You? Not blo… not likely.”

“I know,” Draco said and ran the few steps to catch up with his mother. “Sorry I’m being such a git today, Mum,” he said, leaning his head up against her for a moment. “I love you.”

Narcissa wrapped her arm around this boy and held onto him for a moment. Her eyes caught on his pale, unmarked forearm and she clutched at him a little harder before she released him. “I love you too, Draco,” she said.

“What am I?” Harry demanded. “Chopped liver?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Shayalonnie for beta reading
> 
> Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey entered my life in fifth grade, a year later in life than Hermione is here, but she is precocious. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Dad.” 

Sirius looked up. If he’d learned one thing about parenting it was that that tone never led to good conversations. Harry was standing in the doorway of what had once been Walburga Black’s formal parlour and was now a fairly good, albeit much too clean, replica of a pub, complete with pool table and a dartboard hung in the middle of the Black family tapestry. The boy had thrust out his lower lip but the pout looked more nervous than sulky.

“What is it?” Sirius asked.

“Can you talk to snakes?”

Sirius could feel his eyes slide, against his will, to the scar on the boy’s forehead but all he did was sigh and say, “Come sit down, Harry.”

“So, that means no,” Harry said, still hovering by the door.

“Sit.” Sirius pointed to the chair opposite his and, reluctantly, Harry slunk across the room and threw himself into the brown leather, his eyes fixed on his feet. “Do you remember how your mum and dad died?”

“Hard to forget,” Harry muttered, “What with the articles every year in the paper on the anniversary and the way people try to shake my hand wherever we go, like I had anything to do with that bastard’s death.”

“Language,” Sirius said, feeling like an utter hypocrite even as the word came out of his mouth. “And I thought between Narcissa, Lucius, and I we did a good job of keeping people away from you.”

“You do,” Harry admitted, “but they still stare, and when I was out with Mum this morning some guy cornered me in the loo and hugged me before I could get away.”

“Fuck,” Sirius said. No matter how hard they tried they couldn’t keep the boy totally protected from his would-be fans. Lucius had threatened to buy and shut down the _Prophet_ if they ever tried to run a story on Harry himself but that didn’t stop the pieces about Lily and James that appeared every Halloween. Apparently, they couldn’t even keep strangers from accosting the boy as soon as he was out of sight of one of his guardians.

“Language,” Harry said, a glint of amusement in his eye. 

“Brat,” Sirius said, and then sighed. “No, Harry, I can’t talk to snakes. Almost no one can.”

“ _He_ could, couldn’t he?”

Sirius nodded.

“Does that mean I’m like him?”

“No!” The word exploded out of Sirius. “No. He was a fucking monster, Harry. He killed your parents, my best friends; he ruined my brother. He turned your other dad into a near slave with the Imperious Curse. And, yes, he could talk to snakes. But he didn’t have friends. He didn’t have anyone he loved. He didn’t have a brother like Draco who he got into so much bloody trouble with – and don’t think I don’t know about those magazines in Draco’s castle – he was… he was nothing. He was darkness and evil and… and you are _nothing_ like that. You are a great kid who happens to have a weird talent.”

“A talent only monsters have,” Harry said, his eyes still down.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair and thought for a moment before he tried again. “Is Remus a monster?” he finally asked.

“No,” Harry said, looking up. “Of course not! How can you – “

“A lot of people think he is,” Sirius said, his voice soft now. “He turns into a wolf, something he didn’t ask for and something he can’t turn off, so he must be a monster.”

“Remus alphabetizes the spice rack,” Harry muttered. 

“And you need to get ready to go over to the Nott’s,” Sirius said. 

“I don’t like that I can do this,” Harry said.

Sirius sighed. “I’m not thrilled either, kiddo,” he said. “People are going to make nasty judgments the same way they do about Remus and it’s not fair, but we handle your nutty fans and we’ll handle this.” He tipped his head to the side. “What do snakes talk about, anyway?”

“Nothing interesting,” Harry said. “Nothing worth being a monster to be able to hear.”

“You aren’t a monster,” Sirius said as firmly as he could. “Now go put on one of the things Narcissa bought you so we can pretend I’m a responsible parent and am sending you over to that dinner looking like a proper Potter.”

“So… the Muggle trainers then?” Harry asked as he stood up.

“Narcissa would kill me,” Sirius said. “It’s bad enough, in her mind, that you two wear those things in public, but at the Nott’s? She’d kill me in pieces. So, please, no.”

Harry laughed at that and headed off up the stairs. Sirius looked after him then got up and loped into the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” Remus asked.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked as he perched on the table and watched his housemate fiddle with pans and milk at the stove. 

“Making hot chocolate,” Remus said. “Want one?”

“Only if you add something alcoholic,” Sirius muttered. 

Remus turned the heat down and leaned up against the counter while he waited for the sugar to dissolve. “Something up with Harry?”

“He can understand snakes.” Sirius said the words with no inflection in his voice.

“Shite,” Remus said.

“And he thinks that makes him a monster,” Sirius added. “Or he’s afraid it does.”

Remus turned back to his pan and stirred the chocolate. “Hand me the brandy,” he said. “I think I want some too.”

“I thought this parenting thing would get easier,” Sirius said as he fetched the brandy from a cupboard. “I mean, the nappies bit was not fun – “

“Understatement.” Remus didn’t turn, just kept stirring.

“ – and there were those years we were terrified he’d fall down the stairs by accident, and he’s been a terror on little brooms since forever, but I thought it would get easier when he got older.”

“I don’t think that’s the way it works,” Remus said. “I think it just keeps getting harder. Next up: girls.”

“Better girls than Voldemort,” Sirius said.

“Who, I can only assume, is also coming,” Remus said.

“At least I can give him advice about girls,” Sirius said. 

“How to get ‘round girls, maybe,” Remus said as he poured the cocoa into mugs and added a splash of brandy to each one. “That might be bad advice. Do we really want another version of you running around Hogwarts, collecting knickers and broken hearts?”

Sirius took the mug Remus handed him and shrugged. “At least it’s something. All I had today was, ‘No, you’re not a monster.’ That doesn’t seem good enough.” He eyed Remus. “It was never good enough for you.”

Remus drank his cocoa and didn’t say anything to that.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione sat on her bed and pulled her knees up. She sat Dragon on top of them and looked at his worn face. “I wish,” she said, and then stopped. She swallowed a few times and then said, “I wish there were other kids like me.” Her voice was just a whisper but she knew Dragon heard her anyway. “No one else can… do things. And I don’t do them on purpose but… and no one likes me.” She took a hand and batted at the tear before it ran all the way into her mouth. “I just wish I were normal.”

. . . . . . . . . .

When Harry presented himself at the Malfoy’s in preparation for dinner with Thoros and Theodore Nott he was sent straight up to Draco’s room. “Would you go see if he’s actually dressed yet, dear?” Narcissa asked. Harry bounced up the stairs of the sweeping, main staircase, down the hall, and finally pounded on Draco’s door.

“What?”

“Are you dressed?”

Draco opened the door and glared at Harry. “Did my mother send you up here?”

“Yes,” he said, pushing his way into the room and flinging himself on the bed. “Are you ready to go yet?”

Draco scooped up what was clearly not his first dollop of hair gel and plopped it on his head and began working it through with a comb. “No,” he said.

“Well, could you be? The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

“I like Theo,” Draco said, stopping his comb for a moment as it caught on two strands of hair already glued together.

“I like Theo too,” Harry said, reaching over to grab one of Draco’s otters off the shelf. “But his dad always gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, “Me too.” He watched Harry toss the stuffed creature from one hand to the other for a moment and then said, his tone a little snappish, “Would you put that back?

“Why do you even have all these?” Harry demanded.

Draco shrugged. “I just liked otters when I was little.”

“So get rid of them now,” Harry said.

Draco eyed his collection and finally said, “No.”

. . . . . . . . . .

The three boys slipped away from the adults as quickly – or perhaps somewhat more so – as it was polite to do so. Narcissa watched them run off, brooms in hand, with a smile on her face. “Time passes,” she said, bringing her wine glass to her lips. “Next year it’s off to Hogwarts for all three of them.”

Thoros Nott nodded, his eyes also following the three. “Do you worry, Lucius, what will happen if our Lord returns?”

“Worry?” Lucius cocked an eyebrow up. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve taken the boy who killed him – or nearly – right into your family. The Dark Lord might not be understanding of that choice.”

Lucius turned in his seat to watch the three boys himself. They were flying now, darting back and forth across the substantial park that Thoros maintained. Periodically one of the boys would plunge toward the ground, seeing how close he dared to go before he pulled up. Lucius remembered doing the same thing at their age and his lips quirked up in a smile before he returned his attention to his host. “You’d have rather the boy be raised by Muggles?” he asked. “That was Dumbledore’s plan, you know. It’s what would have happened if Narcissa hadn’t stepped in.”

“Offensive notion,” the woman said. “The boy may be a half-blood but half of that blood comes from good wizarding stock. You can’t let him rot with Muggles.” Her lips curled at the last word. 

“And, somewhat less sentimentally,” Lucius said, “leaving him with his Muggle family would have turned the boy into Dumbledore’s pawn.”

“And now he’s yours,” Thoros said.

“And now he’s mine,” Lucius agreed. “Quite for the best, don’t you agree?” He sipped his wine and smiled at his host.

“Did they ever find out who betrayed his parents to our Lord?” Thoros asked.

“No,” Lucius shook his head. “It remains a bit of a mystery. Sirius says he wasn’t the secret keeper for their cottage, that he has no idea who they finally chose. Whoever it was, well, he was surely the culprit. Slaughtered the fourth little member of their tiresome group, what was his name, love?”

“Peter?” Narcissa asked with a delicate wrinkle of her nose.

“Yes,” Lucius said. “That’s the one. Killed him, left only his finger. Plus, some unfortunate group of Muggles but….” Lucius shrugged, clearly indifferent to the fates of the non-magical. 

“Could you pour me another, Thoros?” Narcissa asked, holding her empty glass out.

“Of course,” he said, adding as he picked up the bottle, “I suppose you’re right about the Potter boy.”

“Let us hope so,” Lucius said. 

. . . . . . . . . .

After dinner the three boys, purloined cakes in their grubby hands, sprawled out under a tree as the adults continued to feint over port on the terrace. “Hogwarts next year,” Theo said with evident satisfaction as he took a bite from his extra dessert. “No more tutors. _Freedom_.”

“Quidditch,” Harry said.

“You won’t be allowed to play,” Theo said. “Not your first year.” 

Harry shrugged. “So?” he asked around a mouthful of frosting. “We’ll still be able to _go_.”

Draco was silent, pulling up blades of grass and shredding them until Theo asked, “What?”

“What if we don’t all end up in the same House?” he asked. 

“We’ll all be in Slytherin. Duh.” Theo said. “Where else would we be?”

Harry, his cake devoured, lay back on the grass. “Not me,” he said. “I’ll be in Gryffindor like my mum and dad. And Sirius.”

“Why would you want that?” Theo asked. “They’re all… loud. And pushy. And –“

“And brave” Harry said. “And bold.”

“Whatever.” Theo licked the last of his cake off his fingers. “You’ll be a coup for whatever House gets you, being the Boy Who Lived and all.”

“Ugh,” Harry said. “I hate that. Why can’t I be just Harry?”

“Because you can’t,” Theo said.

“It’s not like I had anything to do with it,” Harry protested. “I was a baby.” He scowled from where he lay on the lawn. “People are always waving at me and Mum says I have to be nice but to never let them encroach.” 

“Good advice,” Theo said, adding something rude about half-bloods and their easily hurt ‘widdle feelings’ under his breath that earned him a smack in the arm from Harry, who didn’t bother to get to get enough leverage to make it really hurt. “Animal,” Theo said. “You do belong in Gryffindor.”

“See,” Draco said. “I don’t want us to be in different Houses. My mum said you hardly ever even see kids from other Houses and – “

“That’s crap,” Harry said. “We’ll all be friends no matter where we’re sorted.”

Draco didn’t say anything and finally, Theo poked him. “Draco’s just worried he’ll be sorted into Hufflepuff,” Theo said. 

Draco rolled over and punched Theo in the arm. “Prick,” he said. “Take that back.”

“I think Hufflepuff’s probably out,” Harry said, laughing from where he lay on the grass as Theo and Draco pounded on one another.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry squirmed away from Narcissa. “You’re embarrassing me,” he muttered as she ran her fingers through his hair and tried, again, to get the locks to lie down in something that looked as if it had been combed sometime in the past week. They’d all come together to Platform 9 ¾ to see the boys off on their first trip to Hogwarts and Narcissa had been fussing at Harry’s hair since they arrived.

“You just look like no one loves you when your hair is all over the place like that,” she said. 

“And we do,” Sirius said, arms crossed as he looked at the two boys. Harry had managed to dart away from Narcissa’s embrace and was hovering over his cart of belongings while Draco had leaned in for one more hug. Remus stood a bit behind him, uncomfortable as always in the presence of the Malfoys, his hands shoved down into his pockets.

“That owl,” Lucius said in his usual drawl. “A bit much, Sirius. He could have just used ours.”

“Boy needs a familiar,” Sirius said. In truth, the big white owl did seem excessive but Harry had almost hugged the thing in the store and, rather than pecking his eyes out, the bird had rubbed her beak against his cheek. Sirius had decreed it was fate, they were meant for one another, and had purchased the thing on the spot. He’d tried to get Harry to name it “Minerva” or “Snivellus” but, to Sirius’ amusement, the boy had insisted her name was “Hedwig.” 

“I love you, Mum,” Draco whispered as he leaned into Narcissa. 

She held onto her child tightly for a moment. “And I love you, my dragon,” she murmured back. “And I will no matter what House you are in.”

Draco straightened up. “It’ll be great,” he said, his smug voice hiding the glint of tears they could all see in his eyes. “On our own. No tutors. A dorm. _Quidditch_.”

“I can’t wait,” Harry said, looping an arm over Draco. “Can we go now?”

“Try to stay out of trouble,” Sirius recommended. 

“Trouble will find them,” Lucius said as he waved them both onto the train, an invitation to leave the adults neither boy ignored.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sirius said as the boys disappeared. “Well, shall we all go get a drink and listen to how quiet things are while we wait for news of the Sorting?”

“He’ll be in Slytherin,” Lucius said. “Malfoys always are.”

“Well, so were the Blacks,” Sirius said, “And look at me.”

“I’d rather not,” Lucius said with an eye roll and half-hearted sneer.

“Draco will be where he belongs,” Narcissa said. 

“Which will be Slytherin.”

. . . . . . . . . .

The two boys slouched and sneered and hid their nerves in the face of a train full of older children who all knew where they were going, who were greeting friends missed all summer, until they finally threw themselves down on seats in an empty compartment and stretched their feet out in front of them, taking up as much space as possible. “You ready?” Draco asked.

Harry grinned at him, the expression only a little shaky. “For anything.”

“It’ll just be classes,” Draco said, sounding as confident and knowledgeable as he didn’t feel. “Nothing exciting happens your first year. We can’t even play Quidditch.”

“Still,” Harry said, “We’ll be together, probably even in the same room.”

“Assuming we’re in the same House,” Draco said.

“We will be,” Harry said. “I’ll just tell them to put me in the same House as you. It doesn’t matter to me which one it is.”

Draco snorted. “You’re such a Gryffindor. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Excuse me.” They both looked up at the voice. A small, frizzy haired girl was standing in the doorway. “Have you seen a toad?”

“A what?” Harry asked.

“A _toad_ ,” she repeated, as if she thought he might be a tad slow. “Neville lost his.”

“Neville?” Draco asked, staring at the girl as if he couldn’t quite place who she was but thought he ought to know her. “Who’s Neville?”

“Neville Longbottom,” she said, now clearly convinced that neither of them were very bright. “He – “

“Found him!” The voice came from somewhere down the train and this girl pulled her head out of the compartment and looked toward the source of the sound.

“I’ve found a place to sit, Nev,” she called. She looked back at the two boys. “Assuming that’s okay. Just about everything’s full up.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Draco said, moving over. Better, he thought, this girl and her toad-carrying friend than some upper-year who would either try to intimidate them both or fawn all over Harry. 

“Great.” The girl sat down next to him, dropping a book bag with an audible thump. She stuck her hand out. “I’m Hermione Granger. Who’re you?”

“Granger?” Draco didn’t take her hand. He just squinted at her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I doubt it,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Muggle-born.”

Draco pulled almost imperceptibly away from her, a motion she saw. Her hand dropped. “Oh,” she said. A look flashed in her eyes that was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but Draco thought she had looked hurt. “That’s how it is. I see.”

“He’s just being a prat,” Harry said. “My mum was Muggle-born.” He stuck his own hand out to her across the space between them. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Her eyes widened as she leaned forward and took his hand. “The Boy-Who-Lived,” she said. “I’ve read all about you in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“Great,” Harry muttered. “Just… forget about all that, would you?”

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m… just Harry, okay?” he said. “I don’t like being different.”

The boy who had to be Neville Longbottom stumbled into the compartment at that moment, identifiable by the toad clutched in his pudgy hands. Hermione looked at him. “You really need a cage for that,” she observed.

The boy sat down, his body perched on the edge of the seat next to Harry as if he weren’t sure he was welcome. “Gran said I didn’t,” he said.

“Well,” Hermione retorted. “Gran was wrong.” She bent down and opened up her bag and rummaged around, pulling out a worn, stuffed toy that she shoved back in as soon as she’d fished out copy of the history of Hogwarts book. “I’ve read all of this so many times trying to figure everything out.” She looked almost hungrily at Harry. “What was it like to grow up having all of this be normal? I feel like I’ve been different forever and it’ll be so great to just be ordinary.” She flicked a glance at Draco. “I figured maybe for once I’d be accepted and fit in but maybe not.”

“I….” Harry ran a hand through his hair, undoing what little progress Narcissa had made in getting it to lie flat. “It just always was. Living with magic, I mean. What was it like to find out so late?”

“A relief,” she said, exhaling so noisily Neville’s frog almost jumped out of his hands again at the sound. She saw Draco eying her stuffed toy and closed up her bag. “I thought… all my life I thought I was the only one who could…do stuff.” She glared at the boy, who was still looking at her bag. “What do you have against Muggle-borns anyway?”

Draco took his eyes away from her things at last and focused on her face. “They’re dirty,” he said, almost defiantly. “Muggles are, anyway, with no magic to keep things clean.”

“Rude,” she opined. 

“It’s true,” he shot back.

“That you’re rude?” she asked.

Harry was openly laughing and Draco didn’t like it.

“It’s true that you’re filthy,” he said, glaring first at Harry then at the girl. That look of hurt flashed into her eyes again and Draco felt something stab at him. He reached out to touch her arm but she pulled away. 

“Don’t,” she hissed. “You might get _dirty_.”

Neville had hunched over himself at their exchange and he gave Harry a desperate ‘do something’ look.

Harry, who had stopped laughing, kicked Draco and said, “Don’t be such a git.”

“What?” the boy demanded.

“You. Are. Being. A. Jerk.” Harry said, articulating each word and kicking his friend in the shin with each one. “Cut it out.” He nudged Hermione with his foot. “I hear the sweets trolley coming. Want something?”

“I’m not allowed to have sweets,” Hermione said, though she looked rather longingly toward the sound of the approaching cart. “They rot your teeth.”

Harry snorted and made a show of looking around. “Are your mum and dad here?” he asked.

“Noooo,” she said, drawing the word out as Harry opened the compartment door and looked down to see how close the trolley was.

“And we’re all friends here, right?” he said, turning back to give Draco a scathing look. “None of us are going to rat you out.”

Draco stood up and shoved Harry back down into his seat. “Let me get it,” he said. “You’re going to go broke buying owl treats for that bird of yours.”

“I can buy my own sweets,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Draco said, “but you aren’t allowed to have them so you’ll just have to filch some of mine.”

She stared at the boy, her eyes narrowed.

“This is his way of apologizing,” Harry said. He’d put his finger on the head of Neville’s toad and was admiring it as he spoke. “It’s as if the actual words ‘I’m sorry’ would make him burst into flame or something. He just buys people stuff when he feels bad.”

When the Trolley arrived, Draco got some of everything and spread them out on the seat between himself and Hermione, tossing things he didn’t care for at Harry. When Neville didn’t take any Draco said, with a roll of his grey eyes, “Are you not allowed to have sweets either?”

“N…no, it’s just that…”

“They’re for everyone,” Draco said. “Longbottom, huh? Pureblood?”

“What is your hang-up about that?” Hermione demanded, speaking to him for the first time since he’d bought the sweets. “Are you this much of a prejudiced jerk about everything or just that? I mean, do you hate people for having a different skin color, or being poor, or anything, or is it only the blood thing that you care about? Because that’s not right, to go around judging people that way!”

She took a breath and looked like she was about to go on when Draco held up a hand to cut her off. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Harry’s head swung around as though he couldn’t believe he’d heard those words come out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth.

“It’s just… it matters in my world, okay? Muggles are… not okay.”

“It doesn’t have to matter for you.” Hermione was still fuming at him. “And there is nothing wrong with Muggles. My parents are Muggles.” She pointed at Harry. “If his mum is Muggle-born, his grandparents are Muggles. You – “

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Draco said again, cutting her off. He thrust his hand out. “Could we try again? Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger.”

She set down the bag of Every Flavour Beans she’d been holding and put her hand in his. “Pleasure,” she said though the look on her face suggested she wasn’t wholly sure of that.

“What did you have in your bag?” Draco asked her. He’d caught sight of the stuffed animal when she’d hauled out the book she still had next to her on the seat. He suspected they were the two things that she was holding onto to feel safe; he couldn’t imagine how frightening it would be to go off to Hogwarts when all you knew about the wizarding world was what was in that book. He was frightened, not that he’d admit it out loud, and he’d been waiting for this ever since he could remember.

She turned a dull shade of red.

“He just wants to know if it’s an otter,” Harry said, flicking beans whose flavours he didn’t think he’d like at Neville. “He’s got a collection of otter stuffies at home.”

“Oh.” She gave the blond boy a sudden, genuine smile and he swallowed at what that did to his chest. “No,” she said, leaning down and pulling the worn stuffed animal out of her bag. “It’s a dragon.”

“What’s his name,” Neville asked, trying to dodge another bean.

“Just ‘Dragon’,” she said, her fingers curled possessively around the toy.

“Didn’t you name all your otters ‘Otter 1’, ‘Otter 2’ and so on?” Harry asked.

Draco glared across at Harry. “Could we just let my otters drop? We’re looking at Hermione’s dragon now.”

“But you love your otters. You have a thing for otters.” Harry said, opening a chocolate frog and then swearing as it hopped out the window. Neville looked scandalized at the language but Hermione just stared after the hopping chocolate, her eyes wide.

“Serves you right,” Draco said. “Git.” He leaned over to Hermione. “They’ve only got one good jump in them. You’d think he’d have learned by now.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Hermione said, smiling at Draco again as he made an effort to include her in their world. “That you like otters, I mean. I always had a thing for dragons.” She seemed a bit embarrassed to admit that; her cheeks turned red again and she tucked the stuffed animal closer to her chest. “My mum didn’t want me to bring him. Said I needed to grow up.”

Harry started to laugh. “You haven’t told her your name yet, have you?”

Draco Malfoy slouched down in his seat. “It’s Malfoy,” he said, almost mumbling the words.

“ _Draco_ Malfoy,” Harry amended. 


	6. Chapter 6

“We have to ride in a boat?” Hermione asked, giving the lake a suspicious look. “It’s _dark_ out _,”_ she said, moving a step closer to Draco so they were almost touching. 

Draco reached down and clumsily grabbed onto her hand. She made a tiny peep but didn’t pull away. “I’ll ride with you,” he said. “Same boat. Won’t let go. It’ll be fine, I promise.” 

Harry stood on her other side and looped an arm around her shoulders. “No one’s drowned in at least seven years,” he said, his voice completely serious. “I doubt you’ll be the one to mess up the safety record.”

Draco felt her squeeze his hand and he muttered, “Don’t be a jerk, Harry. She’s really nervous and you aren’t helping.”

“It’s just that it’s so dark,” she said, her voice taking on a certain false bravado. “I’m sure it’s fine. A little weird that we have to take boats when everyone else is riding in carriages pulled by nothing.”

Harry looked back at the carriages. “They’re pulled by ugly horses, what are you talking about?”

Draco blinked at him a few times, looked over at the carriages, and then back at Harry. “She’s right, mate,” he said. “They’re being pulled by nothing. 

Theo came up behind them. “I can see them too,” he said. “Who’s your new friend?”

“Hermione,” Draco said. “And you probably know Neville.”

Theo Nott looked at the boy standing off to the side, holding his toad in a pocket with one hand. “Not really,” he said. 

“Longbottom,” Draco said.

Theo shrugged. “I don’t really know all the blood traitors.” He said the words without any heat or menace but Neville stepped back anyway, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I’ll see you all in the castle before we all get put into Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” Hermione said the word softly as she watched the lanky, dark-haired boy walk away. “I don’t think I’ll be sorted into Slytherin.”

“No,” Draco said, not really paying attention because he was frowning at Theo’s back. “Mudbloods never are.”

“Draco.” Harry said the name with shocked disapproval and Hermione, who’d heard Harry say ‘fuck’, ‘bloody’, ‘goddamn’, and ‘shite’ multiple times already on the train turned her head to stare at him. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t – “

“Shite,” Draco said. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed Hermione’s hand again. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just… a bad habit from hearing my dad.”

“What’s it mean?” she said, her tone suggesting she already knew what it meant.

“It’s a bloody rude word,” Harry said. “If his mum heard him use it she’d wash his mouth out with soap.”

“It means Muggle-born,” Neville said. He was glaring at Draco too. “And it’s an _awful_ word. The _worst_ word.”

“I said I was sorry,” Draco snapped at the boy. “It just… came out.” He looked at Hermione and said again, almost helplessly, “I didn’t mean it.”

Hermione made to tug her hand away from his but then a giant man was herding them onto the rickety seeming boats and she gulped and held on tighter instead.

“I really am sorry,” Draco whispered in her ear after he’d helped her into one boat and settled next to her. “I… it’s the way my dad talks. I didn’t mean it, not the way… I won’t do it again.”

Just then the boat moved off and she closed her eyes and said, “I wish it weren’t so dark. What if there’s something in the water?”

“Like the giant squid?” Harry asked.

“Merlin, Harry,” Draco snapped. “Are you trying to freak her out on purpose?”

“Well, there _is_ a giant squid,” he said, “and if she’s really read that boring book about the school she knows that.”

“And mermaids,” Hermione said, her voice tiny. “In Muggle stories mermaids are quite nice, but I think – “

“Yeah,” Neville said. “They’re not that nice.”

“I just want to be Sorted and find my room and – “

“And eat,” Harry said. “There’s a feast.”

“What if you’re in Slytherin?” Hermione asked, clearly starting to get nervous about something else now. “You’re the only people I know and… and…”

“I won’t be in Slytherin,” Neville said. “M…my parents were both in Gryffindor so I will be too.”

“Oh, good,” she said with evident relief. “Maybe we’ll be together then.”

“It runs like that in the old families,” Harry said. “House affiliation, I mean. My dad and mum were both in Gryffindor too. All the Potters were.”

“Not always,” Draco said. He sounded a little defiant. “Your godfather was in Gryffindor and he was a Black.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Dad’s a bit of a rebel.”

“A bit?” Draco asked. They were approaching the shore by now and he could tell Hermione was distracted by their conversation so he kept going. “He owns a _motorbike_. A _flying_ motorbike.” Draco lowered his voice and added as though this were the ultimate forbidden thing. “He has _tattoos_.”

“Are tattoos that bad in the wizarding world?” Hermione asked.

“My dad told me to never _ever_ get one,” Draco said. “Not of anything.”

“Huh,” Hermione said. “I wonder why.”

Draco shrugged. The boats had landed and he helped her out. “Time to get Sorted,” he said as cheerfully as he could.

“I hope we’re together,” she said. “All of us.”

“Me too,” Neville said. 

“Yeah,” Draco said.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand, “to finally meet a real live dragon and then have him get put in another House.”

Draco’s blush was hidden in the darkness; he’d never simultaneously hated his stupid name and been grateful for it at the same time before, but ever since Harry had decided it was hilarious that this girl had a thing for dragons and his name basically _was_ dragon he’d wavered between wanting to crawl into a hole and never come out and being glad he’d caught her attention.

“Yeah,” he muttered again. “That would be unfair.”

. . . . . . . . . .

The First Years all hovered, waiting for their turn to be Sorted. 

Draco didn’t even know what to hope for. Harry would surely be in Gryffindor. Potters always were. And he’d be in Slytherin. Malfoys always were and he knew he wasn’t brave or unusual like Sirius. He’d never done anything bold or foolish or… so he just put a sneer on his face and looked around at all the other students with disdain.

The hat had barely touched Hermione’s head before it yelled out “Gryffindor” and she jumped up and ran over to their table. The hat didn’t hesitate before putting Longbottom in there with her. When it was his turn Draco tossed the cockiest look he could at Harry before sauntering over to the stool.

Professor McGonagall gave him a searching look before she settled the hat on his head.

He sat there and waited for the hat to yell out “Slytherin” but instead the thing spoke inside his head.

“Well,” it said, “Fragments and reflections and echoes. How interesting. Things are different for you because of events that never happened.”

“What?” Draco asked it, confused.

“Bravery, self-sacrifice you have made and yet haven’t – you’re quite the unusual boy,” the hat continued.

“I’m not brave,” Draco admitted to it. “I’m scared all the time.”

The hat laughed and he could feel himself starting to sulk. A hat was laughing him at. A _hat_. “You think that bravery is not feeling fear?” the Sorting Hat asked. “Sometimes I forget how young you all at this moment.”

Draco was going to ask it what that meant by that when it called out, “Gryffindor” and he scrambled off the stool to shocked silence from the Slytherin table. He looked back at Theo and Harry. Theo’s face had closed down but Draco knew him well enough to see the unhappiness the other boy was hiding. Harry, on the other hand, looked overjoyed. 

Draco looked up at McGonagall who made a shooing gesture at him and he ran over to the Gryffindor table and slipped in next to Hermione.

“This is great,” she said.

“Yeah,” Draco said, but he looked back at Theo and watched his childhood friend Sorted into Slytherin and away from him. Theo looked over at him and swallowed before shrugging and sitting down with his new Housemates.

When Professor McGonagall called Harry’s name the room got very quiet. “It’s true,” Draco heard a ginger haired boy still standing with the unsorted First Years say in a voice that carried in the sudden silence. “Harry Potter is at Hogwarts this year.”

Murmurs of “Harry Potter” and “the boy who lived” began to make their way from one student to the next until the boy slunk forward and climbed onto the stool. 

“Is it always like that?” Hermione asked Draco in a whisper.

“Pretty much,” he said back. “Everywhere he goes. It’s awful.”

Harry was Sorted into Gryffindor and nearly ran to join them, sliding in next to Draco with a look of relief. The Sorting continued and Draco was less than pleased to see the ginger haired git who’d been so loud-mouthed about Harry joined them at the Gryffindor table. He eyed the boy and said with a cold sneer, “You’ll come to learn, Hermione, that in the wizarding world some families are better than others. Red hair. Hand-me-down robes. This must be a Weasley.”

She yanked her hand away from his. “So you’re snotty about class too?” she demanded and Draco crossed his arms and glared at the newcomer. Now he had two reasons to dislike the boy. Three if you counted that he was a Weasley.

He decided he was going to go with three.

“Wow,” the boy said, thrusting his hand out toward Harry. “Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah,” Harry said, taking the hand for only a brief moment. 

“And you are?” Hermione asked. She had narrowed her eyes at the boy and Draco felt a little thrill that she didn’t seem to like him.

“Ron,” he gushed, still looking at Harry. “Ron Weasley. Wow. Wait until I tell my mum that Harry Potter’s in my House.”

“He doesn’t really like being fussed over for that Boy-Who-Lived thing,” Hermione said. She sounded like a condescending know-it-all and Draco, who’d pegged her as a vulnerable bundle of nerves, blinked a few times.

“Why not?” Ron Weasley asked. “You’re _famous_ ,” he said to Harry.

“Maybe,” Hermione said, her tone still snottier than Draco had heard from her on the train or in the boat, “he’d rather not be reminded of how his _parents died._ ” She nearly hissed the last two words and Ron Weasley had the grace to blush.

Harry gave her a quick, grateful smile and then they all turned and began listening to a confusing and utterly not-helpful welcoming speech. “Stay out of the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione repeated, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to take notes, “and away from the third-floor corridor.” Draco saw her almost begin to reach for the bag she’d carried all the way in herself, the one with her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and her Dragon, then stop herself.

Draco looked back up at the Head Table, trying to guess which professor taught what. McGonagall, who he knew was now his Head of House, was studying the Gryffindor table with what seemed like more than idle curiosity. He remembered the way she’d looked at him before he put the Sorting Hat on and shivered. His mum sometimes looked at him that way, as if he reminded her of someone else, as if she were trying to trace some other boy’s features in the shape of his eyes or line of his jaw.

It had been beyond creepy to see a woman he’d never met before do it too.

Severus Snape, who had been to the Manor a handful of times and with whom his parents were cordial, was staring at him as well, his eyes flicking now and then over to Harry. The man’s expression was dark and resentful and Draco moved closer to his friend on the bench, worried.

. . . . . . . . . .

“Gryffindor?” Severus Snape drawled the words out in the faculty lounge after the prefects had herded all the little First Years up, or down, to their dorms. “A _Malfoy_?” He laughed. “Lucius will have kittens.”

Minerva McGonagall shrugged as she poured herself a cup of tea. She wasn’t looking forward to the Howler she was sure to get from Lucius Malfoy – she’d already sent Narcissa a quick owl – but she wasn’t surprised. Anyone who would travel back in time and risk negating his own existence to try to prevent a war had a streak of reckless courage that belonged in her House. It was eerie to see the lines of the tired and injured boy she’d met so many years before echoed in his younger self. Eerie, too, to see the scarred and horror-stricken girl repeated in smug little Hermione Granger, also, unsurprisingly, one of hers.

“I find your phrasing a little offensive,” was all she said. “Have kittens, Severus? Really?”

“Oh, so sorry,” the man said. “I forgot for a moment your bond with all things feline, Minerva.”

“Why don’t you go see about welcoming your little snakes?” Minerva suggested, controlling the irritation that threatened to color her tone by force of will. “I saw you have a few who look like they might need the rules explained to them using very small words.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Why, Minerva,” he said before he swept away. “How catty of you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Remus slouched down in the leather seat, a pint of beer held in one hand and his head leaning on the other. An owl had arrived from McGonagall several hours earlier. Sirius had greeted the news that Harry had been sorted into Gryffindor with fist pumps and a loud hoot. Lucius had been less pleased that Draco had been similarly sorted.

“He is a Malfoy,” the man had nearly snarled when Narcissa had passed him McGonagall’s note. “All Malfoys belong in Slytherin.”

Lucius had been ranting for hours. Remus had a headache and wanted nothing more than to go back to Grimmauld Place and sleep. Sirius, unfortunately, seemed amused by this entire scene and so Remus found himself stuck watching his friend watch Lucius Malfoy rage and fume because it seemed rude to leave on his own.

At first Lucius had threatened to go up to the school and demand – demand – that the Hat reSort his son. Then he’d wanted to send McGonagall a Howler. Then he’d considered sending one to Dumbledore; Sirius had encouraged that idea with more than a little enthusiasm. Then Lucius had moved on to wanting to convene the Board of Governors of the school, planning to have them insist his son be moved.

“You could just blast him off the family tapestry,” Sirius finally said. “That’s what my parents did to me, after all.”

Remus groaned. 

Lucius said, his lips nearly grinding together and his jaw twitching with rage, that he would never disown his son. Not ever. Not for anything. Draco was a Malfoy and that mattered more than any ridiculous school House affiliation.

That was when Narcissa had apparently had enough of her husband’s tantrum. “Draco is with Harry,” she said, “which I’m sure makes both boys happy. If you cause a fuss, Lucius, you’ll just let people know this was not part of your plan. Is that what you want?” 

Lucius turned slowly toward his wife. She sat in a leather chair with her ankles crossed neatly in front of her. “Snape is up at that school,” she said.

“Snivellus,” Sirius spit out. 

Narcissa ignored him. “Do you want him to know you aren’t happy?” she asked. “Because he’s not going to be Harry Potter’s biggest fan. He is not our ally.” She paused. “Don’t give him a weapon, especially not one that points at Draco.”

Lucius looked at Remus then. “Sirius, take your friend home, he looks like he’s in pain.”

Sirius looked from Narcissa to Lucius then nodded. “My first priority remains what it always has been,” he said. “I’ll see James and Lily’s son grown and happy, no matter the cost.”

“Secrets,” Remus said, pulling himself up. Sirius looked as if he were going to apologize but Remus held his hand out. “What I don’t know I can’t reveal,” he said. “The boys got into Gryffindor. We celebrated that they’ll be together; brothers should stay together. I have a headache. That’s all I know.”

“Bare is the back,” Sirius said. 

“Exactly,” Remus said. “Let’s go.”

. . . . . . . . . .

After they left Lucius sighed and rubbed at his own head. “Gryffindor,” he said in resignation. “It had to be Gryffindor.”

“He’s with his brother,” Narcissa said. She stood and walked toward the door, pausing when she had her hand on the doorknob. “The girl was sorted into Gryffindor too.”

“Of course she was,” Lucius said. “Please tell me that at least she’s from some family we know. The Parkinsons or the Greengrasses or – “

“Muggle-born,” Narcissa said. 

Lucius slumped in his own seat. “Fucking Merlin on a broken broomstick,” he swore. “A Mudblood. Could this night get any worse?”

“I’m going to bed,” Narcissa said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to eliminate that word from your vocabulary, dearest.”

“How am I supposed to play that my son is in Gryffindor, best friends with Harry Potter, and in love with a filthy Mudblood and make it look like it’s a good plan? That it benefits that bloody bastard?” Lucius turned to look at Narcissa. “This would have been a lot easier if both boys had gotten into Slytherin. Sometimes I think that Hat has a bloody fucked off sense of humor.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Narcissa said. “Perhaps something as simple as a rebellious child, something we aren’t taking seriously but that makes him, at least for now, unsuited to service. Adolescents are often difficult.”

“I wasn’t,” Lucius said. “I did what I was told, married the woman I was told – “

Narcissa made a slight coughing noise.

“You know I adore you,” he said. “You know I adored you long before they arranged for us to officially meet in that formal parlour at your parent’s country estate and you looked up at me through those lashes of yours and said in a meek voice I have never heard you use since that you’d be happy to do whatever your father thought best.”

“We were both good at sneaking down trellises,” Narcissa agreed. “Though I’ve always suspected your parents knew.” 

“Did she really have to be a Mudblood?” Lucius asked with a sigh, pulling himself up from his chair.

Narcissa shrugged and Lucius narrowed his eyes. “How long have you known?” he asked. 

“Come to bed, love,” she said. “In the morning, we’ll send a box of cakes off to the boys congratulating them on their Sorting. That will reassure Draco that you’re not upset –“

“Except that I am upset,” Lucius corrected her.

“- and send a very public message of support,” Narcissa continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “As you said, what matters is that he’s a Malfoy, nothing else. Now let’s go upstairs. I may be too old to climb down a trellis with no fear of falling but we could, perhaps, reenact what we did in the barn after we slipped out of our respective rooms.”

“With less hay,” Lucius said. “If you don’t mind.”

“I could transfigure a blanket into hay,” Narcissa said, a teasing lilt to her voice, “if you wanted to really bring back memories.”

Lucius took her hand and, turning it, kissed her palm. “If you are too old to climb down a trellis,” he said, “I am too old to get hay in some parts of my anatomy.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

Draco kept his back to his room as he set his books out on his desk; he’d pulled all his clothes out, had arranged his study materials, and had started to pull out the otter he’d brought only to shove it back into his trunk. Neville’s toad had already tried to hop away again, proving Hermione’s point that the thing needed some kind of cage, and Harry was sprawled out on his bed looking at a Quidditch magazine with that Ron Weasley. 

When Draco had fantasized about going to Hogwarts he’d never quite thought about having to share a room with anyone other than Harry. He’d never quite realized that he had to share a room with three other boys for the next seven years. He had to share a room with Ronald Weasley, who’d gushed over Harry and who, even now, was looking at Quidditch magazines with his brother.

Neville was fine. He had that escape artist toad, and he’d gotten up in Draco’s face about the ‘Mudblood’ thing but he was fine. Fine. Ron Weasley, however, was another matter. Draco could feel his mouth set in a sneer as he put the last schoolbook out and turned to face the room.

“Draco,” Harry said without looking up, “Now that you’re done channeling Remus, come look at this. They’ve got the predictions for this year’s team picks.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Ron said, flipping a page of his magazine. “Would have expected you to get sorted into Slytherin. Isn’t that where your type goes?”

“His type?” Harry asked, his hand stilling above the magazine he’d been about to pick up and toss to Draco.

“Yeah,” Ron said, his eyes on the article he was reading. “Everyone who followed you-know-who came from Slytherin. Course his family claimed to be bewitched but that’s not what my dad says. He says Malfoys never needed a reason to go over the Dark Side.”

“At least Malfoys don’t have more children than they can afford,” Draco bit back. 

“Guys,” Neville stammered, “maybe we should – “

“Yeah,” Harry said, closing up his magazine. “Maybe we should. I was going to write a note to your mum, Draco. Do you have some paper I can borrow?”

Draco silently handed Harry a sheet of parchment from his desk before he went and joined Neville. “What’s your toad’s name?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Ron and the lump in his own throat. 

“Trevor,” Neville said, stroking the small animal on the chin. “I hope he doesn’t get lost again.”

“I’ll ask my mum – Draco’s mum – to send a terrarium or something,” Harry said. “He’ll probably be happier if he’s got a toad place to go instead of just a bed or pocket.”

“If I had a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could,” Ron said. His own familiar, a dingy looking rat, was sleeping on his pillow. “Course, I have Scabbers.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I wouldn’t talk.”

“Where’s your familiar?” Ron asked, the words sounding almost like a challenge.

“Haven’t got one,” Draco said. “My parents thought I’d do better without a pet to take care of.”

“You can share mine,” Neville offered. 

“Thanks,” Draco said as he reached out to touch Trevor. “He’s kind of cute.”

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco heard whispers follow Harry from the moment they slipped out of their shared room the following morning. Upper year Gryffindors tried not to stare but they all heard variations on, ‘It’s him, I saw the scar.’ Ron looked nervous and a little pleased at the attention, but Neville reached up and pulled Harry’s bangs forward after they passed through the portrait entrance to their common room and students from other houses took up the whispering chorus.

“Ger off me,” Harry said, pushing him away.

“Hides the scar if you wear it forward,” Neville said. “I know what it’s like to be… I figured you might not want everyone staring at it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Yeah, good thinking. Thanks Nev.” 

Hermione was already at breakfast, a schedule sitting in front of her that she was studying with her brow furrowed. Draco leaned over the table to look at it and saw she’d colour-coded the different subjects. “Nervous?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I don’t want to be behind, you know? You all came from families where this was all normal. What if I’m the worst one?”

“You won’t be,” Neville said, his tone glum as he helped himself to eggs and toast. “That’ll be me. Gran thought I might be a squib for a while, even. Besides, there’s loads of students from Muggle families every year so it’s not like you’re the only one.” He spooned a dollop of marmalade onto his plate. “Bet I’m the only near-squib though.”

“What’s a squib?” Hermione asked.

“Someone born to magical parents who can’t do magic,” Draco said. 

“Oh.” Hermione gave Neville a sympathetic look. “Well, your gran was wrong about your toad needed a cage, so I’m sure she’s wrong about this too.”

Just then hundreds of owls swooped in, dropping letters and small parcels on the tables. Draco looked at them, waiting for the Howler about his sorting, and Hermione caught his nervous glance.

“Do they poop on your head, or something?” she asked, looking a little nervous herself as she voiced that thought and eyeing the platter of bacon with some concern. 

“No,” Draco said, shocked at the idea of an owl so badly trained it would defecate near people. “No, it’s just… I expect my parents aren’t too happy I ended up in Gryffindor.” He gave her a shaky smile. “My dad’s probably livid.”

“Bet he’s planning on storming over here with the whole Board of Governors behind him,” Harry said around a mouthful of eggs. He swallowed and then added, “Or maybe he’ll offer to buy them a new Sorting Hat, one that works properly since this one’s clearly defective.”

“You can’t just buy a new Sorting Hat.” Ron sounded appalled. “It’s one of a kind.”

“It was a joke, Ronniekins,” a voice called down from somewhere up the table. Draco looked up the row of seated students to see a pair of matching older boys, both with the same red hair as Ron. More Weasleys, he thought to himself. Great.

The large Eagle owl from Malfoy Manor that flew over to them didn’t drop off a Howler, however. Instead it passed along a small package that Draco fumbled to open.

“Sweet,” Harry said, looking over his shoulder. “Mum sent cake.”

Narcissa had sent cake, along with a note congratulating both boys on their Sorting and telling them she looked forward to decorating the Christmas tree with gold ornaments this year to celebrate their House affiliation. Lucius had added a quick note at the bottom saying only that he was happy they were together and to be sure to do their assignments on time.

Draco passed the box around so everyone near him could take one of the small cakes, hesitating only briefly before offering it to Ron. Neville read the note Draco left out and said, “She sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Our mum is the nicest woman in the world.”

“She’s not your mum,” Ron said.

“You’re wrong,” Harry said. “She is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius references the Icelandic proverb “Bare is the back of a brotherless man.” Source: Hreinsson, Viðar, ed (1997). Brennu-Njáls saga.


End file.
